


Veronica Mars.  P.I. to the Stars

by Sophia_Bee



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Detective Noir, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-20
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 13:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2389529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophia_Bee/pseuds/Sophia_Bee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Future Fic, Veronica is a private investigator living in Los Angeles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is one of my absolute fave Veronica Mars future/AU fics I have ever written. I've read it again over the years and still love it. I hope you enjoy it as well.

Veronica touched the scar that ran from the corner of her mouth, across her cheek and up towards her ear. Once fresh and pink, it had faded over time into a thin white line, barely visible unless you were looking for it, or if you happened to notice that one side of her mouth was a little lopsided when she smiled. Veronica didn’t smile that often.

She had some other visible scars. The gunshot wound to the shoulder that left a blossom-like scar, white and lumpy. The lead and metal of the bullet was still sitting in her body, making it ache on cold days. There weren’t that many cold days in L.A. Then there were the surgical scars left from when she’d rounded a corner while chasing a perp and his buddy had t-boned her with his car, leaving her with a fractured pelvis and a broken femur. Recovery had been a bitch.

Most of Veronica’s scars were the invisible type. The kind that left imprints on her memory and rose up in the middle of the night stealing her sleep and she would sit at the kitchen counter of her cramped apartment feeling the burn of tequila slip down her throat.

It had been a strange spring in LA. Rain had actually come; flooding the streets, washing the grime off the buildings and covering the city in a shiny patina, making it seem new again. Veronica sat in her office staring blankly out the window as the rain dripped off the eves and spattered against the window. The room was dim in the afternoon light, the desk lit by a solitary lamp. Next to the lamp was a nameplate. Marble with gold embossed letters. It had been a gift from her dad when she’d finally started making enough money to afford an actual office.

“Veronica Mars. P.I. to the Stars.”

It was a nondescript office in a nondescript building, dark carpet made to hide coffee stains, beige furniture, a small waiting area with two cheap couches and a plastic plant. Not even a very real looking plastic plant. Veronica had picked it up at garage sale because she knew if she bought a real one she’d only kill it.

Her office was sparse: a couple bookshelves, two mildly comfortable chairs and a love seat that doubled as a bed when long nights became early mornings. Her certificate from the Los Angeles Police Academy and a picture of her on the day she was sworn in as an officer of the law were nailed to the wall. They were part of her past but they made her clients feel they were in good hands. In the center of the room was what Veronica had decided was what all hot shot executives had to compensate for their small dicks: a mammoth mahogany desk and a leather high back chair.

She’d been happy with the steel case desk she’d picked up at a second hand office supply store in Culver City. But her dad had insisted. If she was going to be Veronica Mars, P.I. to the Stars, she needed a kick ass desk to keep their egos in check. She hadn’t been too surprised when she walked into her office one Monday and found the old steel case replaced by The Monster. And it had come in handy as high powered executives had sat across from her, insisting their second wife, twenty years their junior, had to be cheating with the trainer he’d hired to keep her in shape while he traveled eighty hours per week. Veronica would nod; try to look understanding and jot down notes on one of the multitudes of yellow steno pads she kept, one for each case she was working on.

So she had her power desk, her fake plant, uncomfortable lobby couches and a handful of powerful clients. That had been five years ago. Business had been good to her with word spreading quickly after she’d helped reduce a couple alimony settlements by a couple mil. Soon she was able to hire someone to answer the phones and write down her appointments. Then she decided she needed a computer specialist, and she knew exactly who she wanted.

Veronica had kept in touch with only two people from Neptune. Wallace was a given since Keith and Alicia had decided to make it official and tied the knot on a warm summer day in the backyard of their new house. She’d inherited two new brothers that day, and a sister a year later when Alicia gave birth after a hard twenty-hour labor. Veronica remembered how Keith had beamed as he emerged from Alicia’s room, a new dad all over again. Sophia would be eight years in the fall.

The other was Mac. She’d moved to L. A. around the same time Veronica had been finishing at the academy. When Veronica needed someone to trace illicit e-mails between lovers and track down extortionists, she’d gone straight to Mac who was working in the computer department of some faceless corporation in the valley. She seduced her over lattes with geek talk and the promise that Mac could bring back her blue streak, wear jeans to work every day, and she’d have the biggest baddest Macintosh on the face of the planet if she came to work for her. At least it would be more interesting than trouble-shooting network errors all day long. Two weeks later Veronica was showing her new computer specialist into her small but clean office and welcoming her to the company.

Mac had gone home for the day, flipping her blue streaked hair as she bounced out the door, telling Veronica that she was welcome to join her for dinner. She offered every night and every night Veronica said no. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Mac. She loved Mac, and adored her girlfriend, but they were just to fucking happy and it would disturb the melancholy that had shrouded Veronica lately.

Only her receptionist was still in the office, watching the clock tick steadily toward 5:00. Veronica had one more appointment before she went home for the day, back to her tiny one bedroom apartment. Her only plans for the evening were to pick up Chinese and work on some case notes.

“You’re five o’clock is here.”

Veronica swiveled her chair around and pulled out a fresh steno pad. Probably another rich man convinced his wife was having an affair with her trainer, or personal chef, or acting coach, or Spanish teacher…take your pick. With summer approaching the latest paranoia to run rampant through the world of the too rich was that the pool boy was a secret bastion of seduction and she’d been busy doing background checks on young men named Juan and Jose who were usually supporting an ailing mother or sending money back to their family in Mexico. There were few cases of true nefarious motivations on behalf of L.A.’s pool boy population. Veronica longed for a good embezzlement case, but she still had to pay the bills.

“Send him in.” Veronica yelled back, vowing once again to teach her receptionist how to use the intercom.

She leaned back, pencil in hand, trying to push away the heaviness that had come with the rain. The memories that had become too hard to hold back lately, no matter how much midnight tequila she downed and she hadn’t stopped to wonder why. She knew because it happened every year as the anniversary approached. Even if she thought she’d forgotten, a dark sadness would set in and one day she’d remember the anniversary was approaching and realize why she’d been in such a terrible mood. She’d have a drink, sit in the dark and cry for an hour and then move on. It was her annual memorial to Lilly.

It was useless to play the what-if game. To think what things might have been different if the whole chain of events hadn’t been started? It didn’t matter if she’d probably be lying on the deck of the Kane yacht somewhere off the coast of Italy planning her shopping for the day. She would have been an be an entirely different person if Aaron Echolls hadn’t smashed Lilly’s head into shards of bone, flesh and hair with an ashtray. But that’s not how things ended up and Veronica had learned through the years that things happened for a reason, even if it was hard to understand at the time.

She tapped her pencil on the desk as she sat waiting for her new client to come in. A half-hour, maybe an hour, then she could jump into her beat-up 1978 Volvo and make her way through the rain-slick streets. Her dad wondered why she eschewed anything new. After all, being P.I. to the Stars had been lucrative and Veronica had plenty of money and certainly could afford any one of the huge SUVs that would allow her to keep up with the Jones’. But she loved the ghosts that old things brought with them, the memories they dragged along behind her as she went through life. They had meaning. New things didn’t have meaning.

“Go on in, sir.” She heard her receptionists say, her voice slightly irritated. Perhaps her new client was hesitant, maybe he’d never hired a PI before. Veronica remembered that she always liked to record her first meeting so she could listen to it later, go back and evaluate the tone of voice, the inflection, the silences. She learned so much from the silences. She leaned down and opened the bottom drawer of her mammoth desk where she kept her recorder. She heard the door squeak a little as her new client entered the room.

“I’m sorry.” She said as felt around for the small rectangular recorder she’d had since she started the business. “I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

Finally she felt the cold plastic against her hand. She grabbed it and shut the drawer then sat up in her chair to feel the shock of surprise pass through her and her routine shtick she greeted new clients with fell away.

Veronica closed her mouth that had fallen open when she realized who was standing in her doorway and she grasped for whatever tiny bit of composure she could find. She’d only seen his face in the papers over the last ten years, and that one time when she’d sat in a cold, sterile room and watched them search for a vein on the man who’d killed her best friend, watched as his eyes fluttered shut and his heart slowly stopped. He’d been there too, but she hadn’t talked to him, could barely even look at him.

The professional took over. Veronica cleared her throat and picked up the pencil that she’d left lying next to the steno pad.

“Hello Logan. Have a seat.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future Fic, noir, Veronica is a private investigator living in Los Angeles.

The last time she'd seen Logan he was standing outside the door of the apartment she and her dad had shared when she was in high school. It was the same night that Aaron had tried to barbeque Veronica and almost made her mom a really crappy single parent. After making sure her dad was okay, Veronica had gone home and collapsed into the kind of deep sleep brought on by total exhaustion. It wasn't surprising she'd barely heard the knock on the door. Sometimes she wondered what would have happened if she'd just kept sleeping. She opened the door, trying to blink the sleep from her eyes. And he'd been there, and she knew he knew.

She couldn't remember what had been said. All she remembered was the feeling of his lips as she kissed him, pulling him into the apartment. The way his hands trembled as he pulled down her pajama bottoms at the same time she was frantically pulling his shirt over his head, not wanting his mouth to leave hers for even a second. The way he'd breathed the word "please" against her lips when her fingers moved to the button on his jeans. And Veronica couldn't say no because this was the only way she knew to make things better. The only way she knew to take away the pain.

They didn't make it to the bedroom and fucked each other on the couch, and then they did it again. No words, no discussion of what had happened that night, or the previous day at the beach. Just the frantic need to feel something. As the sun rose over the Neptune Hills Veronica finally fell asleep, her head resting on Logan's chest, his hand softly stroking her hair, lips in her hair.

When she woke up he was gone.

And now he was sitting across from her. Almost ten years later. He'd left her nothing. No explanation. No note she could cry over in the morning. No postcard from Budapest or wherever it was he ran off to. No ending at all, just Veronica Mars spinning in the emptiness he left behind in his wake. Just pain that would never leave her, lodged in stomach, climbing out of her memory late at night when she missed what might have been.

"Veronica, I…." Logan started, his voice edgy. His hands were in his lap and she saw them shake a little.

"Let's get one thing straight." Veronica interrupted, careful to keep her voice neutral. "This is a business. If you want to hire me, I'm expensive. That's because I'm good. But if this visit is about the past, you can walk out right now."

Silence fell between them and Veronica refused to move her gaze from his face, challenging him to stand up and leave. There would be no forgiveness here. No apology to make up for past wrongs. She wasn't here to salve Logan Echoll's tortured soul, to provide penance. She'd learn to live with her pain. So could he.

"It's Trina." Logan said after a long time.

Trina Echolls, Logan's older half sister. She'd finally hit it big a year after the Kane murder trial. One of her multitude of indy producer boyfriends had actually picked a decent script and Trina had a major role. With the publicity from the Kane murder, people flocked to see the daughter of fallen movie star, Aaron Echolls. And they were rewarded with a half decent performance. She ended up with a best supporting actress Oscar nomination and a Golden Globe that she kept in her bathroom, according to US Magazine. Veronica hadn't bothered to see the movie.

Trina finally had the fame she craved: parties, paparazzi, magazine articles, all the trappings of celebrities. Trina also craved the hard stuff. She loved to snort it, inject it, waiting for the burn and the numbness that followed, letting her forget that she wasn't daddy's little girl anymore. With all the money from the movie she could afford quality junk. Soon she wasn't invited to the A-list parties. The cameras followed her as she became thinner and thinner, worshipping at the altar of heroin. Soon the cameras and magazines started ignoring her. Their readers weren't interested in watching the ravages of addiction. Last Veronica heard she'd been living in a no-tell motel off the strip where she had better access to her dealers. The life of Trina Echolls was an open secret in Tinsel Town.

"I know about Trina." Veronica said coolly, not adding the painful truth that everyone knew about Trina, knowing how to stop at being truthful and not cross into being cruel.

Logan flinched at Veronica's tone.

"You don't know everything."

Logan reached into the bag that had been slung around his shoulders when he walked through her door. He pulled out a manila envelope and slid it across the desk toward Veronica. She picked it up and looked at it for a moment. No return address. Logan's name and address typed neatly on a white label. She recognized a Beverly Hills zip code. She turned it over and bent back the metal clasp and opened the flap. Inside were glossy black and white photos of Trina. Half naked, her body emaciated, her arms covered with marks from skin-popping. There was another, Trina fucking some anonymous guy, her face blank, eyes unfocused. There were five more pictures, each one just as horrifying to look at.

"I know she's not a saint." Logan said quietly. "But ever since…"

His voice trailed off and he looked down at his hands. Veronica didn't say anything, knowing this wasn't the time for smart assed comments. Logan up again and Veronica's breath almost caught at the look of raw pain on his face.

"She's the only family I have left. They've said they'll go to the press if I don't give them 100 grand."

Veronica didn't say anything. Just sat there, watching the stricken face of the man she'd dreamed of too often in the last ten years as he fought to regain his composure. The rain continued to drip and in the distance was the muffled sounds of cars splashing through the flooded Los Angeles streets. Veronica felt a strange emotion. One she hadn't felt in a long time. One she thought she may have lost somewhere in her past. She almost didn't identify it at first but then she recognized it.

Compassion.

When she'd looked up to see Logan Echolls standing in her doorway it felt like the entire nightmare of her past had come crashing down. Everything was fresh again. The smell of gasoline and fire. The fear that she'd never see her dad again, never joke over ice cream sundae breakfasts. Her mother walking out again and taking their hard-earned money because to her being able to have her next drink was more important than her daughter's future. Logan and the feel of his fingers skating across her skin.

She'd worked hard to bury it. Vowed to survive despite it. Took on the toughest cases the LAPD could hand her. Worked her way up the ranks quickly, earning a reputation for not taking any shit. Worked too much because that left her no time to feel. Drank too much because that numbed what feelings were left.

And now her past was standing in her doorway. It was sitting in front of her asking for her help. And she wanted more than anything she'd wanted her entire life to tell Logan Echolls to go to hell. To hurt him like he'd hurt her. But she couldn't.

Veronica smiled for the first time since Logan had walked into her office. Maybe for the first time in weeks. She felt the pull of the scar on the edge of her mouth.

"Okay. I'll take the case. Give me all the details."

She could almost hear Logan's sigh of relief as she flipped open the steno pad and scrawled Trina Echolls across the top.


	3. Veronica Mars.  P.I. to the Stars, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> futurefic, noir, Veronica is a private investigator living in Los Angeles.

His name was Orlando James. It was the type of name a mother gave her child with hopes that it might bring fame or fortune, or at least look good on the jacket of a book. He was a two-bit photographer who spent his time trying to take pictures of celebrities in compromising positions, dreaming that he’d stumble into the middle of the perfect tabloid scandal, making him rich. He also had a little habit on the side, one that he told himself he could control even though most of his money from the papers would be spent on getting higher than a kite. It was his little habit had lead him to cross paths with Trina Echolls.

It’d been easy to get the pictures. After all, she wasn’t a movie star any more. She was a junky and out of it half the time. He’d spent a couple days feeding her heroin and taking pictures as she shot up, fucked anonymous guys for money and lay passed out on the dirty bedspread of the rent-by-the-hour fleabag motel. He’d developed the pictures, each one better than the next: his best work ever. Then it was time for part B of Orlando James' ride to riches.

He’d found Logan’s address, knocked on the door and introduced himself, telling the maid that Mr. Echolls would indeed want to talk to him. He had some information for him. About Trina. Orlando had stood on the stoop for fifteen minutes, shifting his weight from foot to foot, before Logan finally stepped into the doorway. He would have waited forever because this was his moment to finally hit it big. He handed Logan the envelope, told him these were all copies and he needed 100 grand or he’d take them to every tabloid on the face of the earth so the world could see what had happened to the daughter of the infamous Aaron Echolls. A smile broke across his scraggly face as he turned and walked down the long driveway. Orlando James had hit jackpot. It was his lucky day.

Mr. James luck was about to change.

Veronica walked into the station room and threw herself into a chair at the desk of a middle-aged, slightly overweight police officer. He looked up at the sound of her voice and smiled.

“Know who this guy is, Smitty?” she asked, smacking on a piece of gum. She pushed a picture across the desk, a thin man in a camouflage jacket standing in front the doors of the Echolls house. Thank god for security systems.

The police officer looked down at the picture and back up at the small blond slouching down into the uncomfortable office chair. She’d been off the force for five years, but Veronica Mars had kept in touch with her boys and bought them enough donuts that she could ask for favors now and then. This was one of those times.

“Jesus, Ronnie. Not even a fucking hello for an old man.”

“Fucking hola, Smitty. Now, who is he?”

Hundreds of perps passed through the main station and it was a long shot this guy would be recognized. But Veronica had to take it. She’d been hoping the blackmailer had at least had the lack of intelligence to have driven to the Echolls house to the security cameras could capture a license plate as well as a face, but she’d had no such luck.

“Yeah, yeah.” Smitty said after studying the picture for a moment. “You’re in luck. This guy came through a couple months ago. Some high and mighty bitch starlet complained he was harassing her. We didn’t have enough to hold him. Let me see…”

Veronica pushed herself up in the chair as Smitty’s fingers clicked across his keyboard.

“Orlando James. Yeah that was his name. Fuckin’ pretentious, but this is Hollywood baby.”

Veronica smiled at Smitty’s wisecracking tone.

“Could I have the print-out?” she asked, knowing her request would meet resistance but she had faith in her power to charm.

“Crap, Ronnie. You know we can’t give this stuff out to civilians…”

She batted her eyelashes.

“Am I really a civilian? Don’t I fall into some gray area?” she said, putting her hand out. “Please, Smitty.”

“Ah, fuck.” He clicked on the screen and Veronica heard the whir of the outdated printer sitting behind the desk. Smitty leaned back and grabbed the papers then shoved them across the desk, along with the picture of the infamous Mr. James.

“Thanks sweetheart.” Veronica said, shoving the papers into her bag.

“Don’t be such a stranger, Mars.” Smitty said as she pushed herself out of the office chair.

“I miss you guys.” Veronica said sincerely.

Being an officer had given Veronica meaning for a little while. There were bad guys out there in the world and she needed to kick their ass and put them in their place. Then the raid had happened and Veronica could still feel the strange cold feeling that had spread through her shoulder when the bullet hit, tearing through muscle, tendon and bone.

Their source had said only two people would be in the house. They hadn’t mentioned the third person that had risen up from behind boxes of figurines stuffed full of cocaine smuggled from the Caribbean.

It was a typical drug bust, a house that was used for cutting blow, a table set up where illegal immigrants would sit working with dangerous chemicals for less than minimum wage while the dealer got rich. The girls had gone home for the day when the police banged on the door, yelling LAPD before breaking it in. They’d found the two guys the informant said would be there and quickly thrown them to the floor. Veronica remembered one of the officers yelling at her to secure the back. She’d looked over at Martinez and he’d nodded as he motioned toward the back of the house.

Veronica couldn’t tell anyone how much she wished she could have been the first person through that door that night. If she had, it might all be over. Instead she was left with the memory of falling to the floor, her arm grabbing at her shoulder, jaw clenched with pain. She was covered with something sticky. She’d only realize later it was what was left of Martinez's brains as they splattered all over her after the bullet blew off the back of his head.

It wasn’t long after that she’d left the force.

It was hard to go to the station. Too many memories. Veronica walked out into the hazy L. A. afternoon, took a deep breath and hucked her gum into a garbage can. She was always glad to leave the memories behind. She walked over to her Volvo, pulled open the door and slipped inside. Then she sat, just staring for a moment, feeling the ache in her shoulder that always started any time she got around this building. Finally she turned the key in the ignition and back out of her parking spot. Time to get back to the task at hand.

A half hour later she was back to the comfort of her office, the past left firmly behind as Veronica started to think through what her next move would be in figuring out what to do with the illustrious Mr. James.

“Hey boss lady.” Mac called as Veronica walked past her office. Veronica stopped in the doorway and leaned on the doorjamb.

“How was dinner last night?” Veronica asked, knowing the answer already.

“Fantastic. Indonesian fried rice with tofu and some red wine. You should have come.”

“And Alice?”

Mac’s face lit up at the mention of her girlfriend’s name.

“Fantastic. She’s finishing an article for some anthropology journal and her semester will be over in a couple weeks. She said to say hi and you should come over soon.”

Mac always invited her over, but she’d been especially persistent the last couple weeks since she knew the anniversary coming up. Veronica would always say no, but there was some comfort in knowing that her friend cared. Mac was one of the few stable people in Veronica’s life.

“You’re the best, Mac.” Veronica said, her voice filled with genuine warmth and love. She turned to go to her office then stopped. She’d almost forgotten about Mr. James.

“Hey, I have a new case and I need background.”

Mac nodded. No problem boss lady. Veronica fished in her bag and pulled out the print out she’d gotten at the station. Mac grinned as she took the paper, knowing even having the printout was illegal.

“And…” Veronica hesitated. “I need one more thing.”

“Sure.” Mac said, already clicking away at her computer.

“Could you do a background on Logan Echolls?”

The tapping stopped and Veronica winced. Then Mac peered around her computer screen, eyes wide at hearing a name that was never mentioned around her tough-as-nails boss.

“Fuck me. Are you sure?”

No, Veronica wasn’t sure. She’d promised herself when she took Logan’s case that the past was the past, that this was just another case, another paycheck. Less than 24 hours and she was crossing the line she’d drawn in the sand. Now Mac was staring at her, her eyes asking if this was the best idea. She and Wallace had been one of the few pieces who saw the devastation Logan left in his wake. She was one of the few who knew how much Veronica had lost.

Veronica could have told her to forget it. She could have done the right thing and left Logan in the past where he belonged. Get the case over with and walk away. But she didn’t. Instead she lied.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” 


	4. Veronica Mars.  P.I. to the Stars, Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> futurefic, noir, Veronica is a private investigator living in Los Angeles.

“His name’s Orlando James.”

Big Joe didn’t say anything. He just looked at Veronica then took a bit of his sandwich and chewed slowly.

“Whaddya want from me, Mars?” he said after he’d swallowed and taken a sip from the glass of milk that had left a ring of condensation on the table They were sitting in a booth at a diner in Cupertino, blinds drawn down over the plate glass windows to block out the afternoon sun.

It had stopped raining.

“I need to know where to find him. I’ve got some business.”

Big Joe wasn’t big at all. He was scrawny with a pencil-thin mustache, pockmarked olive skin and slicked back hair. Several thick gold chains hung around his neck and a pair of enormous sunglasses perched on his nose. He was every bit the Hollywood gangster and no one played the part of two-bit hoodlum, middle man drug dealer better than Big Joe, whose real name was Jose Alvarez. After all this was L.A. and everyone was busy acting out his or her part in the script.

“You got connections. You find him.” Big Joe said as he took another bite. “Now, you’re interrupting my lunch.”

“Fuck-it Joe.” Veronica spit out. Her hand went up to her face, fingers touching the scar running across her cheek. “Do I have to remind you that you owe me?”

Veronica had known Big Joe since almost the beginning of the agency. It was one of her first cases. A former child star was starting to get a reputation for going to the bathroom an awful lot in the middle of dinner. You had to learn to balance your habits in Tinsel Town. Too much blow got people talking. Daddy was pissed and he wanted Veronica to find out who was supplying his daughter with her California cornflakes.

So Veronica got to know some of the main players in the seamy underbelly of the Los Angeles drug world. She learned to take a scratch-my-back-I’ll-scratch-yours approach. And to get help tracking down the daughter’s dealer, Veronica had made Big Joe a deal. She would use her connections at LAPD to send a message to a colleague of his in San Quentin and ask no questions and Big Joe would get the name of the dealer to her in return.

She’d sent the message. That’s what she’d screamed as one of Big Joe’s men sliced his switchblade across her cheek. Just then the smarmy Latino guy she’d nicknamed Goon Number Two’s cell phone rang and Veronica could hear Joe’s voice on the other end. She heard the click of the switchblade being retracted and suddenly she felt nauseous. Instead of bending over and vomiting, Veronica walked up to Good Number Two and demanded the cell phone. When faced with a pissed off blond, blood dripping from the cut across her cheek, it was obvious to Goon Number Two what he had to do. He’d silently handed the phone to Veronica and she spoke into it calmly, her voice low.

“I fucking did exactly what you asked me to. You fucking owe me.”

In the end it turned out that daughter dearest had picked up her bad habits from daddy. The royalties from repeats of her syndicated hit television show weren’t enough so daddy dealt a little on the side. The daughter’s dealer was her boyfriend, a skinny kid who was getting drugs from his cousin’s friend and who had big plans to move in on daddy’s rich and famous customers Daddy hadn’t hired Veronica out of concern: she was another maneuver in a turf war. Veronica had been cut for nothing.

That had been five years ago and now her scar was about to buy her a favor.

“Murrda.” Joe muttered, starting to realize that Veronica meant business and she wasn’t about to back down.

“One of your guys knows James.” She said, her fist hitting the table, making the dishes and silverware rattle. “ I need to find him.”

“Must be important if this is how you want to use your favor? Couldn’t you just look him up in the friggin’ phone book?”

If only it was that easy, but Orlando James wasn’t at his last listed address and Veronica needed to find him fast.

She’d told herself it was to get Logan out of her life as quickly as possible. The last week had been the longest week of her life. Get him those negatives and he’d leave her alone. Again.

She should hate him for leaving her like he did. She should have ignored the compassion she felt and refused to take the case. Told him to go to hell.

It wasn’t as if her life wasn’t broken before that night, but waking up alone that morning had shattered what little she’d been able to keep together. Veronica kept going but nothing felt the same and only Wallace knew that sometimes Veronica Mars, the toughest act in school, would cry for no apparent reason. Slowly her sadness had been replaced by anger, burning slowly inside her, pushing almost everyone around her away and keeping her from putting the barrel of her gun into her mouth in the middle of the night and pulling the trigger.

The anger had kept her alive.

Over the last few days she’d started to realize that the anger was gone. Seeing him again made her realize that at some point over the last ten years Veronica had found room to forgive Logan. All the sadness of the world that she saw around her made her start to see that what Logan had carried on his shoulders at seventeen was more than anyone deserved. Somewhere in all that sadness she’d started to understand why he ran away.

She was scared.

Without the protection of anger Veronica found herself vulnerable. For years the anger had kept her from remembering how Logan’s body had felt against hers, how her fingers had traced the scars on his back and he’d flinched at her touch. She’d started to forget. Now she couldn’t stop remembering.

That’s why she needed to find Orlando James.

“Alvarez.” She said quietly. She gave him her best I-mean-business-asshole look. He looked back at her, his face resigned.

“Bien, bien…bien.” He muttered. “Fucking bitch.”

Veronica ignored him slid out from the booth and stood up. She fished in her pocket, pulled out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill and dropped it on the table.

“Sandwich’s on me. I’ll be in touch.”

The sky had started to darken by the time Veronica reached her office building. She stepped out of the elevator feeling wearier than she had in a long time, walked down the long hall lit by the greenish glow of fluorescent lights and pushed open the door to her suite. She didn’t bother to turn on the lights, just walked through the dark lobby into her office.

She needed a drink.

“Veronica.”

Her hand had went up to where she’d worn her holster all those years on the force almost before she jumped at the sound of her name and she cursed the day she’d decided she didn’t need to carry a piece regularly.

“Fuck!” she spit out.

She flicked on the overhead light, her hand still shaking slightly. It was Logan. He was standing in front of her desk.

“Your receptionist let me in.”

Veronica turned and set down her bag.

“I’ll have to talk to her about that. She said flipply as she opened her bag and made a show of rummaging through some papers. “You’re just lucky I don’t have my gun on me today.”

She heard him move behind her.

“I had to see you.”

His voice was husky. Veronica froze, keeping her back to him, afraid to turn around; afraid he’d see her weakness in her eyes. She felt his hand touch her arm and she jumped like an electric shock went through her spine. Her eyes closed as she inhaled.

“Logan.” Her voice was a whisper in the silence, a tiny plea for him to take his hand off her shoulder, to step away from her. “Please.”

And just like all those years ago when he’d grabbed her and pulled her into his arms on the balcony of The Camelot, Logan spun her around, pulled her into his arms, bent over and crushed his lips to hers, his hands moving to her hips, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened.

And just like all those years ago Veronica sighed, her arms slipping up his shoulders and around his neck as she wound her fingers into his hair and kissed him back. 


	5. Veronica Mars.  P.I. to the Stars, Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> futurefic, noir, Veronica is a private investigator living in Los Angeles.

Read previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=sophia_bee&keyword=Veronica+Mars:+P.I.+to+the+Stars&filter=all)

Part of Veronica, the part that holds onto her anger and pain, tells her that she needs to pull back; to put space between her and his touch. Then she could think. Then she could tell him to go to hell.

Instead she kisses him again as he says her name against her lips, but she can barely hear him as she pulls him closer, pressing against him, making him groan against her mouth. Her hands slip from around his neck and start to push under the t-shirt he’s wearing, aching for the feel of his skin under her fingertips. His mouth moves to her neck, tracing a path down her collarbone as he starts undoing the buttons on her shirt.

It feels good. It feels like ten years ago.

But better because they’re older now and the clumsy awkwardness of fumbling kisses and teenage sex has been replaced by experience. Somewhere in the middle of one-night stands and the one longish affair she’d had with a married man, Veronica had started to get the hang the way just a touch could set her skin on fire, the way her fingers could make his eyes glaze over. Clearly Logan had been studying too since he was finding all the right ways to make her gasp. His fingers slip down to the button on her jeans and Veronica froze.

“No.” she whispers and just the sound of her voice was enough for him to stop.

“Veronica…please.”

His breath is warm against her ear, voice thick with arousal but she knows he’s asking for more than a quick fuck on her office couch for old-times sake. Her stomach clenches and she can’t look at him. Logan’s hands drop to his side and he steps back. Veronica feels the sudden sting of loneliness, a sudden ache for his fingers on her skin that had been there only seconds ago.

“We can’t go back.” She mutters, not realizing she’s swaying closer to him.

He touches her again and she jumps at the shock of his fingers on her arm, at the way it makes things start to feel warm and liquid. He leans toward her again and she thinks he’s going to kiss her but he just touches his forehead to hers the same way he’d done it an eternity ago as they’d stood outside his house.

It was amazing how some things never lose their charm.

“We can go forward.” He says softly.

“Logan….” Veronica breathes his name, and her resolve crumbles. She hears a sigh escape Logan as he presses harder against her forehead.

“God, Veronica…”

Her hand comes up and she places a finger on his lips, stopping words she knows will make this too complicated, words she’s not ready to hear.

“Just fuck me. That’s all you can have tonight.”

He kisses her urgently, and it takes every bit of sanity she has left to push him away again.

“Not here.” She says quietly. She didn’t want to have those memories haunting her office.

They drove to her apartment in silence, making their way along brightly lit streets. Past the hookers, tarted up for the night. It was L.A. Even the johns expected some class and they would get it in the form of six-inch heels and spandex hot pants. Past all-night diners filled with the beautiful people who were grabbing a bite to eat before they broke night in the clubs. And the entire way Logan held her hand, lacing his fingers with hers.

It was first time he’d ever held her hand.

Veronica almost slammed on her brakes and demanded he got out her car when he’d reached over and grabbed her hand. Fuck it, he could find a pay phone, a cab, go home and get the hell out of her life. But they way his touch sent small electric shocks up her spine made her bite her lip and she pressed hard on the gas pedal, running through a red light as she squeezed his hand back.

She didn’t remember the drive home, just the way he would glance across the car at her and she would forget to breathe. She didn’t remember fumbling for her keys in the hallway, just the way his fingers had crept under her shirt and started to unfasten her bra as he whispered “faster” in her ear. She wasn’t sure how they made it into her apartment but she did remember the way he pushed her up against the wall of her apartment hallway and explored her mouth with his tongue.

Somehow she managed to get the word “bed” out between kisses. There would be no quick fuck on the couch this time. It had to be different. If she was going to do this and be able to survive afterward, it had to be different. She turned to lead him to the bedroom and his arms wrapped around her and he pressed into her back, face buried into the crick of her neck as his tongue lapped at the skin there. And she moaned.

Fuck.

Somehow they made it into the bedroom but not before her shirt had been unbuttoned and dropped in the hallway. Her bra was thrown toward the living room and she gasped as Logan’s fingers teased across her nipples.

He pushed her back onto the bed, mouth never leaving hers and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pushing her hips up into him. His lips made their way down her cheek to her neck, and down further until they stopped.

It was her bullet scar.

"We all have our scars" she whispered, her fingers going to his back, tracing across his skin to find his scars, and she could still feel them after all these years, and she wanted to tell him how sorry she was and that no one can choose what family they’re born into.

Instead she kissed him again and her fingers found the button of his jeans, fumbling a little as she pushed it open, pulled down his zipper and slid her hand inside, making him gasp. And the scars were forgotten and she was grateful for that.

They were finally naked, clothes crumpled on the floor, and Veronica’s hands trace across his body which is so familiar but different. It’s harder, the softness of youth melted away. He chants her name over and over as he rolls her on top of him.

And they finally fuck.

Afterward they are silent. She’s boneless, her head lying flat on his chest as he lazily strokes her arm. Veronica feels tears wetting the edge of her eyelids but she blinks them back and tries to concentrate on the feeling of his fingers on his skin. Soon his mouth is back on hers.

And they fuck again.

Sometime before the sun rises but after the birds have started to chirp outside her window Veronica falls asleep, Logan pressed into her back, arms slung around her waist, face buried in her hair. She’d tried as long as possible to not sleep, to lie there and burn him into her mind, the way he felt, heavy against her, the way he breathed, deep and slow. Her lids started to feel heavy and for the first time in a very long time Veronica doesn’t dream.

When she wakes the first thing she does, even before she opens her eyes, is stretch a little, pushing her hips off the bed and flexing her toes. Feeling…happy. Fucking happy. Was she really allowed to feel happy? She reaches out and her eyes fly open when her hand encounters just the sheet. Emptiness.

She lays there for a moment, wanting to hold onto hope that things could be different. He’s left her again. Her stomach starts to feel sick, bile rising in her throat and she sits up so she can run to the bathroom and vomit in the toilet. Then she stops.

Logan is leaning on the doorjamb of the bedroom, two steaming mugs in his hand. He’s smiling.

“Hey V. I made coffee.” He says, lifting up the mugs and Veronica can breathe again. She starts to shake. And as she looks at Logan, his hair tousled, his eyes warm, and realizes that he didn’t leave, the tears she’d been able to hold all night back start to roll down her cheeks as she finally starts to cry. 


	6. Veronica Mars.  P.I. to the Stars, Part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> futurefic, noir, Veronica is a private investigator living in Los Angeles.

“Come on Holly.”

Veronica leaned around edge of the dressing room table. Sitting in front of it was Holly Starlight, stripper extraordinaire, although she would remind Veronica regularly that she preferred the term “exotic dancer”. More class, she’d say, smacking on the gum that always seemed to be in her mouth. She was beautiful in a tawdry way, the lines on her face covered with pancake makeup, her hair colored a brassy shade of red.

Holly looked up from applying thick black kohl around the edges of her eyes.

“Ronnie, you know I can’t be asking Butch to do pro-bono. He’s a professional.”

“Shit, Holly. It’s not like he’s some fucking lawyer or something. He’s a thief.”

Holly smacked her always-present gum loudly and picked up a tube of bright red lipstick, swiping it quickly across her bottom lip then smushed her lips together to the spread the color.

“And a fucking good one, otherwise you wouldn’t need his help.” She said, looking in the mirror as she picked up a lip pencil and started exaggerate the top bow of her lip. “No way Ronnie. Not unless there’s some money in it for him. We got out eyes on a little trailer up in Ventura. No more drunk and grabby businessmen, sweetheart. Just me and him, a nice garden, tomatoes…”

“Okay, okay.” Veronica interrupted, not wanting Holly to go onto what types of lettuce she was planning to grow. She made a mental note to add this to Logan’s bill. Big Joe had finally come through with the address and now Veronica just needed to get those negatives and Trina Echoll’s secret would stay that way. “How much?”

Holly looked up from smearing silver eye shadow across her lids and considered Veronica for a moment.

“Five grand.”

Veronica almost laughed. It must be a pretty nice doublewide Holly and Butch were planning to settle down into.

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Holly.” Veronica spit out. “A grand, that’s all you’ll get from me.”

“Awright.” Holly grunted then put her hands on either side of her breasts and pushed them up toward Veronica.

“You like ‘em? Butchie bought ‘em for me. Birthday present. Wanna touch ‘em?”

“Beautiful, but I’ll pass on the opportunity to feel you up.” Veronica said, pretending to admire Holly’s cleavage. “Now here’s the address. The guy’s name is James, Orlando James. I need all the negatives in his apartment. They’re probably hidden so he’ll have to tear up the place a bit. And tell Butch to trash his camera equipment for good measure.”

“Ya got it, Ronnie.” Holly smacked.

Veronica turned and walked out the dressing room, down the dark hallway of the strip club and out the back door. She stepped out into the sunshine and blinked a little, then looked at her watch then headed toward her Volvo. Twenty minutes - she could make it to over to Temple just in time.

Thirty five minutes later Veronica pulled up in front of the City of Angels Medical Center emergency department.

“Late again, sis.” Wallace said as he jumped into the passenger seat.

“Fucking L. A. traffic.” Veronica leaned over and gave Wallace a huge hug. “Save any lives today, bro?”

One of the best days of Veronica’s life was the day she stopped being an only child. Now there were four in the Mars-Fennel clan.

“Nah, just another day of demanding starlets who need rescuing by the hottest male nurse around. I’m still waiting for one who wants to be my sugar mama.”

Veronica smiled, pushed her old car into gear and cruised out of the driveway. Forty-five minutes later they were sitting on Wallace’s deck with ice-cold beers and enchiladas from the taqueria around the corner.

“So what’s this about?” Veronica asked between bites. Wallace had called her a few days earlier and said they should have dinner.

Wallace took a sip of his beer then looked at her.

“You know I love you, Veronica, right?”

She nodded, chewing a bite of enchilada.

“And I want what’s best for you.”

Veronica knew where this was going. She swallowed her bit and took a drink of her beer.

“Logan.” She said quietly, her skin crackling as she remembered how his lips had burned a trail down her spine the night before as she lay in bed.

Wallace didn’t say anything. Just took another sip of beer and looked away from her. They sat there, the plastic weaving of the lawn chair digging into the back of Veronica’s thighs, not looking at each other, staring out at what would be hills if they could be seen through the haze. Veronica could hear the sounds of children playing, the yelling of mothers calling their kids in for dinner, cars driving by, the sound of her own breathing.

“I had to pick up the pieces last time, Veronica.” Wallace said after a long while. “I don’t want to have to do it again.”

“It’s different. It’s not last time.” She said, knowing that Wallace couldn’t know if she was telling the truth. She didn’t really know if she was telling the truth.

It had been a week since that night at the office. A week of takeout left forgotten on the counter as they devoured each other. A week of sleepless nights because she couldn’t stand to have the feel of his arms around her for very long before her hands started to wander and his eyes darkened with desire. If she’d ever had a drought of sex any time in the last ten years the last week was making up for it.

“Is it?” Wallace asked. “Is it really different?”

Veronica laughed a little.

“Well he stayed this time.” She said wryly.

“You know what I mean.”

She did know what he meant. And she didn’t know how to answer so she took another sip of her beer.

“I’m happy, Wallace.” Veronica said softly. “Right now I can’t think about anything beyond that.”

And that was the truth. She felt it in the morning when she woke up and watched him sleep. She felt it when he brought her coffee made just how she liked it. She felt it when she came, his name on her lips. Didn’t Veronica Mars deserve to be happy for once? She looked over at her stepbrother, his face filled with concern. He looked back, searching her eyes for something to make him feel better, something to tell him he wouldn’t have to pick up the pieces of her destroyed life any time soon. All she could give him were the tears that once again filled her eyes and threatened to spill over her cheeks.

“You love him.” Wallace said matter-of-factly.

“I always have.” Veronica answered back just as matter-of-factly, despite the fact that her heart was pounding and she felt a thin sheen of sweat on her palms. It was the first time she’d admitted it to herself, let alone anyone else.

She loved him. Maybe someday she’d actually be able to say those words to Logan.

“Okay.” Wallace sighed and then they were both silent again, letting the sounds of the neighborhood take over once again. Slowly Veronica relaxed, her body slumping into the lawn chair.

“But.” Wallace said, his voice breaking through the silence. Veronica looked over at him and saw he was grinning. “If he hurts you I’m going to have to give him the smack down.”

“No one says ‘smack down’ anymore, Wallace.” Veronica teased.

Logan called her on her way home.

“I miss you.”

Veronica smiled her lopsided smile.

“I’ve been busy.” She said, trying to keep her voice casual. “You know, business.”

“Yeah, business.” Logan echoed. “I let myself in. I’m making dessert.”

“I never knew you cooked.”

There was so much they didn’t know about each other. Ten years was a long time and a lot had happened.

One night he’d spent time tracing all her scars with the tips of his fingers and she told him about each one. How Big Joe and the switchblade had stolen her smile. About how she’d felt it was someone else who was lying on the floor of that crack house with brains splattered all over her uniform. And he’d told her how terrifying it was to hear his father, the one person who was supposed to protect him, laugh when he cried the first time he left bloody welts on his back. And how he’d learned not to cry after that. And Veronica wished there was a way she could kill Aaron Echolls all over again, but she knew even that wouldn’t take away the pain.

“I have to stop at the office.” Veronica said, wishing she could just go straight home.

“Hurry.” Logan said.

Veronica flipped her cell phone closed and pulled into her parking spot. She ran up the stairs instead of taking the elevator and down the hall to her office suite. The faster she could drop off her case notes, the faster she could get home and into his arms.

When she stepped into the lobby Mac was sitting on one of the crappy chairs.

“Hey.” Veronica said as she headed toward her office. “Working late?”

“Vee.” Mac said, standing up and following her.

“Go home and eat something.” Veronica said, digging through her bad and pulling out her Trinca Echolls steno pad. She threw it on her desk and turned around. “Say ‘hi’ to Alice for me.”

“Veronica.” Mac used her full name this time. Her voice was serious. Veronica turned and looked at her.

“Shit, Mac. What is it? Alice?”

“No.” Mac said quickly. “It’s not Alice.”

“Could it wait until tomorrow?” Veronica asked, breathing a sigh of relief and turned back to her desk, her thoughts wandering back to Logan and if she would kiss him slowly and passionately when she walked through the door or hot and bothered, and which one might mean she’d get fucked on the kitchen floor before dessert. Or maybe that would be dessert.

“I know you’ve been seeing him…Logan.”

Veronica froze at the mention of Logan and she turned around to find Mac still standing in the doorway of her office. She held out a manila file folder.

“You need to see this.”

Veronica’s heart clenched tight as she looked at the folder and she knew whatever Mac was holding was bad. She wanted to scream, to tell Mac to fucking her own business and leave her the fuck alone. Instead she stepped toward Mac and put her hand on her arm.

“I know you’re concerned but it’s okay. It’s different.” She said, trying to reassure herself as much as Mac.

“It’s not okay, Vee.” Mac said. She held up the manila file folder again. “You need to read this. It’s the background check. On Logan.”

Veronica’s breath caught in her throat and her body started to tingle and suddenly she was filled with anger: anger at Mac for wanting to take this away from her.

“I don’t need to read anything, Mac.” She bit out. “I don’t want to see it.”

“God damn-it Veronica.” Mac’s bit back. “You need to read it.”

“No. I don’t have to. I’m happy Mac. For the first time in a long time I’m fucking happy. I’m not going to let that go. Now get the hell out of my way and I don’t want to ever see that file again.”

She moved toward the door but Mac stopped forward and stopped her.

“Vee…” Mac said quietly. “I love you. You know I don’t want to hurt you.”

“No.” Veronica mumbled as felt tears start to sting her eyes.

“But you need to know.”

“No.” She said again. “Please.”

Mac looked at Veronica with such sadness on her face that Veronica wished she’d gone straight home, eaten the dessert, fucked Logan, fell asleep in his arms and had just one more day. That’s all she wanted. One more day.

“I'm so, so sorry Vee.” Mac said softly as she stepped forward and put her arms around Veronica’s shoulders as they started to shake. “He’s married.” 


	7. Veronica Mars.  P.I. to the Stars, Part 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> futurefic, noir, Veronica is a private investigator living in Los Angeles.

She’d never know how she managed to stay standing as Mac told her that Logan lied to her. She wanted to collapse, scream, hurt someone, hurt him.

Instead she bit her lip until she drew blood to keep the tears from spilling onto her cheeks. She hadn’t cried when the car slammed into the passenger door, pinning her against the gearshift. It had hurt like a bitch, but she hadn’t cried. She just told Martinez to call 911 and get her the fuck out of there. She hadn’t cried when she lifted her hands to find brains splattered all over them as the medics lifted her onto the gurney at the crack house. She wasn’t about to cry now.

Because Veronica Mars didn’t cry.

She took the manila file folder from Mac’s hand and stared at it for a moment. Then she’d shoved it into her bag, muttered something about needing to get away and walked out, down the hallway, down the stairs and into the filtered evening light. She’d threw her bag onto the passenger seat and slipped behind the wheel of her car, put it in reverse and started driving.

As she headed north on I-5 she heard the familiar tones of her cell phone. She grabbed it as she negotiated through evening traffic, turned it off, then threw it back onto the seat. Logan’s name had been on the caller ID.

Fuck him.

_Message left today at 7:15 p.m.. Hey V., it’s me. I’m busy thinking of creative uses for chocolate syrup. Will you be much longer? Hurry home._

The hills were washed in indigo blue and the sky was covered with streaks of pink clouds stretching out across the horizon as she left the City of Angels in her rearview mirror. Veronica hurled down the highway, her window down and she could taste dust on her lips. She didn’t know where she was going, except that she was going north up 101. She was going away from Los Angeles. Away from him.

The air was still warm but she could feel a little bit of a chill starting, the kind of chill that makes you bring along a sweater on summer night picnics. Veronica shivered but she didn’t close the window.

_Message left at 8:03 p.m. Veronica, how much longer are you going to be? I’m starting to get a little worried. Call me when you get this._

She hadn’t been to the beach much since leaving Neptune. There wasn’t much desirable about Los Angeles beaches. Now she wanted the beach. She needed to feel like there was something bigger out there than her and her problems. The headlights of the Volvo cut through the darkness as Veronica continued up highway 101.

_Message left at 8:20. Hey, where the fuck are you? I tried your office and no one answered. I don’t know who to call. Don’t kill me but I’m going to try to find your address book. Just call me when you get this. I just need to know you’re okay._

_Message left at 9:45 pm. Veronica. Please. We need to talk. I called Mac and she told me…told me that you know. God, I fucked up. I should have told you. Come home. Please._

She stopped in San Luis Obispo to get gas at an all-night mini-mart. She picked up a bottle of gin while she was there, the cheapest she could find, and threw it into the backseat of her car. Then she drove a few miles out of town and slept in her car that night.

_Message left at 1:00 am. I know you’re pissed. I know you need time to think. I’m not going anywhere until we figure this out. I did that before and I’m not doing it this time. So come home, V. I’ll be waiting for you._

Things are supposed to feel better in the morning but for Veronica they just felt cramped and chilled as she unfolded herself from her car, stepped out onto the pavement and stretched a little. She was standing alone at the side of the road. Across from her she saw beach grass swaying gently with the breeze and beyond that was the ocean.

She stared at it, stretching as far as her eye could see. And she felt small. And alone.

Sliding back into her car, Veronica decided it was time to stop. She drove a little further up 101 until she reached the next town. It was still early for a small town but she managed to find a hot cup of coffee she could sip while she waited for the vacation rental office to open.

In the meantime she turned back on her cell phone and ignored the “5 new voicemails” message that popped up on the screen. She dialed Mac’s home number.

“Fuck, Veronica.” Mac mumbled when she heard her voice. “Where are you?”

“I think I’m in Morro Bay.” Veronica said, looking at the sign above the pharmacy across the street from he coffee stand.

“You sound tired.”

“I’ve drove most of the night.” Veronica said as she took another drink of her coffee.

“Are you okay, Vee?” Mac asked and Veronica knew what she was asking about. She decided it wasn’t the best time to lie.

“No.”

“He’s been calling.”

Veronica was silent for a moment.

“Don’t tell him where I am.” She said quietly. “And cancel all my appointments for the next couple weeks. I need some time to…to think.”

“K.”

“I’ll call you with my contact information as soon as I get settled.”

_Message left at 10:20 am. I didn’t sleep last night, couldn’t sleep without you next to me. Ridiculous, isn’t it, after a week. But it hasn’t been a week, has it? It’s been ten years. You don’t know how much I’ve missed you._

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Cherie. It’s probably because there isn’t much to tell. Remember the first time we slept together? I do, like it was yesterday. And I remember how I woke up that morning and everything felt so overwhelming. My dad, Lilly, and then you…us. I couldn’t deal. So I left. Not just you, Neptune, everyone. I drove to LAX that morning and caught the first flight to Europe I could get onto. I didn’t care about where I was going. I didn’t care about anything.

I was so fucked up and there was nothing I could do to make it better. So I got wasted and went out every night and fucked whoever would have me and that’s when I met Cherie. I don’t even remember when we first met. Just when she told me she was pregnant.

So I did the right thing and married her, and if it was a girl I was going to insist her middle name be Lilly. But it never happened because Cherie miscarried at five months.

God, Veronica, if there was one thing I knew it was that I didn’t love her. But I’d fucked up so much and I wanted to make just one goddamn thing right in my life. So I tried to make it work, but there’s nothing about Cherie that I even like. I actually asked her for a divorce three years ago but she knows she has a good thing going. Her price is high.

I came back here two years ago and Cherie stayed in Barcelona. That’s how loving our marriage is. It took a couple months but I was finally able to catch up with Duncan. He’s pretty busy running the entertainment division of the business. He’s the one who told me you were living in L.A. I stayed away because I didn’t know what I would say after all this time. Then this shit with Trina happened and it was the perfect reason to see you again.

That’s what I should have told you from the beginning.

I don’t know where you are. Mac won’t tell me but she says you’re okay, and if that’s all I can have, that’s what I’ll take. But I’m not walking away this time, Veronica. I’m going to stay right here and wait for you to come home. And I’m going to keep calling. I’m not going to let you again.

I called my lawyer in Barcelona this morning, Veronica. Cherie’s getting every last goddamn penny she wants.

Veronica. Come home to me.

I love you.

The tiny cabin was perfect, faded gray siding, a covered porch, perched alone on the top of a windy bluff overlooking the Pacific. Veronica pushed the key the rental agent had given her into the lock and turned it. It smelled stale but she didn’t care. She threw her bag on a chair and put the bottle of gin on the kitchen counter. Then she took her gun from her bag and put in the drawer of the nightstand next to the bed. She smoothed the bedspread with her hands and sat down, staring out the window at the ocean. Clouds were gathering on the horizon and the rental agent told her they were expecting a storm later that night.

Veronica was finally alone. She’d held it together all that time, pushing him out of her mind, ignoring how she ached for his touch. Now as she sat staring out at the ocean she couldn’t stop the thoughts. She picked up her cell phone off the nightstand and looked at it. Six new messages.

Veronica pressed the number for her voicemail and put the phone to her ear.

“Fuck you.” She said through clenched teeth after the first message. Then she’d hit the delete button. Fuck you, Logan for sounding so fucking sincere when you were lying all along.

“Fuck you.” She said again after the second message. Fuck you because you had no right to worry. None at all. She pressed the delete button again.

“I’m not going to call, Logan.” She said to the empty room after the third message. “Not now, not ever.” And she deleted the message.

The fourth message made her throat feel tight and the tears started to threaten to spill again so she set the phone down, went to the kitchen and opened the gin. She winced at the taste as it burned down her throat then poured another glass. She had nothing to say to that one as she deleted it.

It was how he said home in the fifth message that caused her to go pour another drink. The way it sounded like he meant it. And she didn’t even notice that her cheeks were wet when she deleted that one.

Then she listened to the sixth message, and she felt the familiar rise of bile into her throat and she couldn’t stay sitting so she curled up in the middle of the bed, the phone cradled to her ear, and she listened to his words, his voice. She closed her eyes and she could almost feel his touch and when she got to the end of the message, she almost forgot to breathe.

Then she hit replay. 


	8. Veronica Mars.  P.I. to the Stars, Part 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> futurefic, noir, Veronica is a private investigator living in Los Angeles.

Orlando pushed open the door to his motel room. It was one of those fleabag hotels off the strip that most decent citizens avoided like the plague, except when they drove in from their big houses on the hill to buy their crack or meth. Or to indulge whatever dirty little secret was hidden behind the tinted windows of their Mercedes, Jags, BMWs, whether it be young boys, young girls or an acquired taste for chicks with dicks.

Hypocrites. Orlando hated them all.

He’d scored some junk, a nickel bag tucked into the pocket of his jacket, and now he just wanted to get home and smoke it, feel the stuff hit his bloodstream. Home was one room covered with dirty carpet, a sink on one wall with a cracked mirror above it, smelling like cigarette smoke and other things Orlando didn’t want to think about. It was the only thing he could afford since being kicked out of his apartment a couple months ago. He could still remember Gladys leaning over the balcony, screaming at him as she threw his clothes off the edge, telling him to get the hell out of her life.

Gladys had been a hellava lay. He was sad to see her go.

So it was the No-tell Motel for Orlando, with a hooker on one side of him who did business all hours of the day and night and on the other side was a woman who spent any time she wasn’t passed out drunk yelling at her two snotty faced kids.

Orlando stepped into the room and stopped. He looked to his left, then to his right, and his hand went automatically to the gun he always kept tucked in his waistband in case someone tried to mess with him, then dropped to his side.

“Fuck!”

The room was in shambles, papers strewn all over the floor, the mattress had been pulled off the bed and was tipped up against the wall. The scratchy polyester comforter had been ripped to shreds, reduced to a pile of stuffing and fabric. His suitcase had been opened and all his clothes pulled out and scattered around the room.

A chill went through him. The negatives.

Orlando ran over to the sink and started to feel under the rim. His fingers encountered some tape dangling from the bottom of the basin and nothing else.

“Fuuuuuuck!” Orlando yelled into the empty room as he saw his 100 grand slip away into thin air. He picked up the glass he used every morning when he brushed his teeth and threw it at the mirror, breaking it. He stared at the broken glass and then he saw it.

His camera. The one thing he actually cared about. The lens had been crushed. The body had been cracked. It was fucking expensive. He’d been pissed that his room had been broken into, and not too happy the negatives were gone. But the camera. His fucking camera.

He was going to kill whoever did this to him.

*****

The storm the rental agent had predicted arrived in the middle of the night. It was one of those storms leftover from the winter, slipping in silently off the ocean, sending angry torrents of rain crashing against the windows of the small cabin as the wind gusted across the bluff. Veronica sat on the porch with her jacket wrapped tightly around her, staring out into the darkness, listening to the sound of a foghorn in the distance warning ships about the rocky shoreline. Finally she’d drifted to sleep, Logan’s voice still in her head.

The sky was still grey the next day when she woke up. Somehow she’d made it back to the bed and crawled under the covers but she didn’t remember how.

He called in the afternoon, leaving a long, rambling voicemail about his day and how he hated that she was out there alone. He said he couldn’t concentrate worth a damn, that he was having a hard time with this latest project. And he ended again by asking her to come home, to call, to let him have another chance. And he loved her.

Veronica listened to the message when she got home from the Morro Bay grocery, after she’d put away the milk, bread and coffee and she could just sit on the porch the phone cradled on her shoulder and listen to his voice. For the first time since she left L.A., Veronica smiled.

He called again that night, telling her he was sleeping in her bed, how it smelled like her, and that he was sorry, so sorry, and if they could just talk she’d understand that there’s never been anyone but her. And he loved her.

She knew there’d never been anyone but her because there’d never been anyone but him either. Veronica fell asleep to that one, the phone lying next to her ear.

In the morning the battery on the phone had died and Veronica had a moment of panic before she remembered she could check her cell phone voicemail from a landline, so she rolled over and grabbed the phone off the nightstand and dialed the number.

It was morning, he said, and sunny. He hadn’t been able to sleep so he’d gone to the twenty-four hour grocery store and stocked her fridge. Who actually lives off coffee, stale bagels and cottage cheese, he wondered. Then he paused and sighed heavily. He knew she was listening because her voicemail box wasn’t filling up. Call him, he pleaded. Tell him what he needed to do. And he loved her.

When had Logan become the strong one, Veronica wondered as she sipped coffee out of a Morro Bay Harbor Festival mug she’d found in the cupboard.

She should have stayed. She knew that now. She should have screamed at him, swore at him, maybe even thrown something at him. She should have made him promise, to swear on Lilly’s grave, that he would never…ever…EVER…lie to her again. And then they could have had fantastic make-up sex and she might have even been able to find a way tell him the reason this hurt so badly was because she was head-over-heels crazy in love with Logan Echolls and that was something he needed to treat with respect and care because her heart was incredibly breakable. It always had been.

Instead she sat wrapped in a blanket blinking into the afternoon sun.

*****  
It hadn’t been hard to figure out who’d trashed his stuff. Orlando asked around and all it took was a couple people up the food chain to learn that someone from Big Joe’s crew had been asking for his address. From there he talked to Emilio, a guy he knew ran with Big Joe on occasion. It was Emilio who told him the person looking for him was some bitch named Veronica Mars.

From there all he needed was a phone book.

Now he stood outside an office suite, the words “Veronica Mars: P.I. to the Stars” etched in gold across the window on the door. Orlando pulled his gun from his waistband and made sure it was loaded. Dropping his hand to his side, he pushed the door open.

Showtime, baby.

The bitch would pay.

*****

There wasn’t a day that went by that Mac didn’t thank her lucky stars that she got to work for Veronica Mars. Even with her closed off, secretive ways, her petite blond friend had a way of inspiring loyalty. There were few people Mac actually thought she’d die for if given the chance. Veronica was one.

So if Veronica didn’t want that asshat, Logan Echolls, to know where she was, there was no way in hell Mac was going to tell him.

He was the one who left ten years ago. And he never knew how much he hurt Veronica. Actually, very few people knew because Veronica had kept going like nothing every happened. To the world she appeared fine but Mac and Wallace knew that there were days that Veronica didn’t get out of bed, times when she would just start crying and Mac would put her arms around her friend and hold her until her sobs became quieter and quieter.

She’d called Wallace when Logan showed up again, panicked that it was starting all over again. Wallace talked to Vee and came back with some trumped up sad sack story that she actually loved the guy. So it had been with just a little glee that Mac had handed the file folder to Veronica, told her that Logan was married. The shock on Veronica’s face confirmed that Logan was still a lying asshole. Mission accomplished: goodbye Logan Echolls.

Except it wasn’t that simple. And now Veronica was holed up in some cabin up north and Logan was calling Mac sounding worried and tortured and fucking sincere, and all it did was make Mac feel guilty.

It was late in the day and the weather forecasters were predicting flooding and doom in the form of a storm that was blowing in from the coast. Mac put a laptop in the dock of her workstation and started to boot it up. It belonged to the assistant of a client. His competitors kept getting the jump on him and he was convinced his girl Friday was letting them on all his little secrets. So he’d brought her laptop to Veronica and now Mac’s job was to recover the e-mails Miss Smartypants thought she’d deleted when she’d tried to wipe out the hard drive to cover her tracks.

Easy as pie.

The door to the lobby opened and shut and Mac looked up at the clock. 5:45. The receptionist must have forgotten to lock the door. Mac looked around her computer screen to see a thin, scraggly man standing in the doorway of her office.

“Veronica Mars?” he asked.

“No.” Mac said. “And we’re not open right now, so if you want to come back…”

“Come back?” the man laughed. “Naw, I’ll talk to her right now.”

The man brought his hand up and Mac’s breath caught saw he was holding a gun.

“Where is she?”

Mac shook her head, carefully keeping her face neutral. There was no way in hell she was going to rat out Veronica to this scumbag. Even if her heart felt like it was going to burst out of her rib cage and all she wanted to do was pee her pants.

“I don’t know.”

“Liar.” The man said and took a step toward her. He grabbed the neck of Mac’s t-shirt and pulled her out of her chair and toward him. “Listen, bitch, I need to find Veronica Mars and you’re going to tell me. Comprende?”

“Fuck you.” Mac bit out through clenched teeth and she saw him blink as drops of spittle hit his face. The man pulled the hand with the gun back then cracked it into her face and Mac saw stars. He pushed her backwards.

“Where is she.”

For the fist time Mac was scared. This wasn’t a game. She looked at the stranger and was grateful that Veronica was far away from L. A. She glanced over at the sticky note with the address for the beach cabin and back at the man.

“I. Don’t. Fucking. Know.” Mac said slowly. But it was too late. The man had seen her glance at the sticky. A smile slowly over his face as he leaned forward and grabbed the sticky note off her computer.

“Nice try, bitch.”

It was the last thing she remembered before Mac felt the gun crack the side of her skull and she slid in darkness. 


	9. Veronica Mars.  P.I. to the Stars, Part 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> futurefic, noir, Veronica is a private investigator living in Los Angeles.

He called again that night and Veronica knew it was time to stop running.

She’d always thought he was the one who ran and she was the one who stayed, who picked up the pieces and kept going. She was the one who’d cared enough to find Lilly’s killer. She was the one who ran the agency while her dad was recovering. She was the one who dedicated her life to making sure the bad guys out there didn’t get away with hurting innocent people.

Maybe she didn’t walk away and jump on a plane, but she’d done almost the same thing by building up walls that kept everyone around her at a safe distance so no one would ever hurt Veronica Mars.

She was starting to understand that she’d only hurt herself. She was going back.

Veronica felt the wind start to blow off the ocean and shivered. The bluff was socked in and she couldn’t see anything as she stared out into the night. It was getting late and she’d been sitting in the dark for what felt like hours until her hands were chilled and she couldn’t feel her cheeks.

Veronica stood up and wrapped the scratchy wool blanket around her shoulders. Even with her jacket on she couldn’t keep the chilled away. She’d leave first thing in the morning and she’d be back in his arms by tomorrow night. But first she would call. Because he needed to know she was okay and she needed to hear his voice.

She made her way into the darkened cabin, not bothering to turn on the lights, not wanting their intrusion just yet. The phone was on the kitchen counter. Veronica picked it up and put it to her ear.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and she felt a chill run down her spine.

No dial tone.

She set the phone back in its cradle and flicked on the wall switch.

No lights.

Fuck.

Maybe it was the storm. Maybe it happened all the time and there’d be a good supply of emergency candles stuffed in a kitchen drawer and she could light them and pour a glass of gin and wait out the storm.

Maybe not.

Veronica remembered her gun sitting in the drawer of the nightstand and she turned to get it when lightening streaked across the sky and she saw him standing outside the door.

She breathed a sigh of relief.

“Logan.” She almost jumped at the sound of her voice in the stillness because she hadn’t meant to say his name out loud. She rushed to the door and in her haste missed the look in his eyes, the word “no” mouthed at her through the glass.

The look was fear.

She had barely managed to pull the door open when he forced it wide open and Veronica stumbled back with a gasp. Another streak of lightening lit up the clouds above and she saw that Logan wasn’t alone. A skinny man was standing next to him; one hand grasping Logan’s jacket tightly, the other holding something up to Logan’s jaw.

A gun.

As they stepped closer Veronica could smell tequila and cigarettes and fuck, she knew this wasn’t good.

“Well, well, if this isn’t the infamous Ms. Mars.” The man said as he kicked the door shut with his foot, never taking his hands off Logan. “I met your buddy here outside and imagine how excited I was to be able to take care of two problems at one time.”

Veronica backed up at the man walked forward.

“Who the fuck are you?” she asked, trying to keep her voice from trembling.

The man sniffed a little and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his jacket.

“I’m the guy who came home today to find my room trashed, courtesy of some goon you hired. He took the negatives. My ticket outta town, gone.”

Orlando James.

“And you know what else he did, Miss P.I.? He fucking TRASHED my camera.”

James’ voice was rising and his face was turning red as he stopped in the middle of the room.

“My fucking camera.”

“How’d you find me?” she asked, feeling the kitchen counter in the small of her back, trying to keep James talking, to give her some time to think.

“Little chickie with the blue hair couldn’t keep a secret. Had to smack that bitch up a little but she came clean.”

Mac. Veronica’s eyes went to Logan’s face.

“She’s okay, V.” he said quickly. “She called me, told me where to find you, told me….”

God bless Mac.

“Shut the FUCK up!” James screamed, shaking Logan then he pulled his hand back and pistol-whipped Logan across his jaw. Veronica heard a dull crack and saw blood on Logan’s lips as he staggered backwards. James pushed Logan onto the couch across from the fireplace and pointed his gun at Veronica, motioning for her to sit.

“Now, bitch. Fucking cunt.”

Veronica kept her head down and walked slowly over to the couch, sitting down next to Logan.

Then Veronica remembered it. Her coat. In the inside pocket. Almost forgotten. Wallace had made her buy it even though she insisted her black belt in karate was the best defense a girl could have.

Mace.

She prayed it still worked.

“You okay?” Logan whispered and she glared at him, trying to tell him to shut the fuck up because the last thing they needed was for James figured out she was more than some private investigator Logan had hired to fuck up his life. If he knew he was anything more than a client James would hurt Logan just to hurt her. If they were going to die, it should be quick and painless.

James crouched next to the fireplace, pulled out a packed of cigarettes and tapped one into his hand. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a cheap green plastic lighter. He flicked it a couple times but couldn’t get it to light.

Veronica glanced at Logan. He was looking at her, the side of his face turning red and starting to swell.

 _I have a plan._ she mouthed.

She used to do this in junior high to get out of tests. She’d make herself throw up then wait on the hard bench outside the principal’s office and hope it was her dad who’d pick her up, or at least that her mom would walk into the school not smelling too badly of vodka and maybe she’d survive the ride home.

“I don’t feel so good.” She said as James continued to mess with his lighter, the drive for that nicotine buzz briefly distracting him. Veronica glanced over at Logan.

“Hey.” Logan said quickly. “I think she’s serious.”

James glanced up just after Veronica stuck her fingers down her throat and just in time to see the contents of her dinner fly through the air.

“Shit.” He yelled, jumping up. Veronica reached for the inside pocket of her jacket, unzipped it and pulled out the mace. She fumbled with the snap across the top, managing to get it undone then sprayed at James’ face. She heard him yell but she was already halfway across the room, heading toward the bedroom, toward her gun.

She scrambled around the bed, her knee ramming into the edge of the dresser, reaching the nightstand on the other side of the room. The drawer stuck a little and Veronica almost started crying as she pulled at it.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Finally it slid open and she pulled out her gun when she heard a loud crack from the living room.

No.

Her mouth felt like someone had stuffed it full of a million cotton balls and everything was moving in slow motion. She ran toward the doorway and saw James standing with his gun pointed toward the ground. Logan was on the floor looking up at James.

Logan.

She heard a sound in the room, an inhuman cry and she’d realize later it was her screaming.

“Baaaaaastaaaaaard!”

James turned around at the sound of Veronica’s voice and she saw his face as she pulled the trigger of her gun.

_Crack._

His face crumpled in shock and he started to sink to the floor. She took two steps forward and pulled the trigger again.

_Crack._

Then another two steps.

_Crack._

And two more.

_Crack._

It was Logan’s voice that stopped her. He was yelling her name at the top of his lungs, over and over, begging her to stop. And Veronica just stood over the body of Orlando James gripping her gun with white knuckles.

Then she threw up for real. 


	10. Veronica Mars.  P.I. to the Stars, Part 10/10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> futurefic, noir, Veronica is a private investigator living in Los Angeles.

“Is that what you’re wearing?”

Veronica looked into the mirror and saw Logan watching her from the doorway of the bedroom. He was leaning on the doorframe, a smile on his face. She smiled back.

“You betcha.” She said, buttoning up the rest of her shirt.

“We have to be there soon.”

It had been six months since Veronica had watched the medics slide the gurney with Logan strapped to it into the back of their rig. Most of that night was a blur, more sensation and feeling than actual memories. She did remember watching Logan lose consciousness and sometimes the fear that had made her throat close and made it hard to breathe would creep back into her dreams, converting them into nightmares that left her screaming into nothingness. She remembered searching his jacket frantically until she found his cell phone so she could call 911. Then there were people everywhere and the eerie red flashing on the emergency vehicles, and they were crowded around Logan, and someone asked if she was okay and Veronica just stared across the room.

Please save him.

They took him to the local hospital and then airlifted him to the regional trauma center. Veronica had been checked out in the emergency department and cleared with just a few scratches. She listened numbly as the surgeon explained that Logan had been shot in the shoulder and showed signs of bruising around his ribs that made them think James had managed kick Logan a few times too. One of his ribs had broke and had punctured his lung. He needed help breathing during the surgery. It too every ounce of energy Veronica had left not to scream at the surgeon.

Just save him.

Then it was a long night waiting next to an empty bed until Logan was out of surgery.

At some point during the night Wallace had shown up. He pulled her up out of the chair and into his arms, holding her, and the tears that had been held back all night had flowed as Veronica sobbed into Wallace’s shoulder over and over that Logan had to be okay. Wallace didn’t say anything, just held her tighter and stroked her hair.

Sometime just before the sun crept over the hills they wheeled him into the room and Veronica had been asked to wait in the hall as a team of nurses transferred him to the bed. Wallace went to grab some coffee as she stood outside the room listening to words such as “pneumothorax” and “chest tube” and “intubated”.

Veronica took him home a week later with strict instructions about activity levels from his nurse. She helped him up the stairs and into her apartment, despite his protests that his place was larger with fewer stairs. Veronica suggested he stop arguing since she had control of his pain meds. What she didn’t say was she needed to be home and she needed him there with her and she wasn’t going to discuss it further.

Veronica tucked Logan in her bed, grateful that Mac had recovered from her concussion enough to break into her place and put on freshly washed sheets and leave a small vase flowers on the nightstand, along with a get-well card. Mac had laughed across the phone lines when Veronica said she knew that Mac didn’t like Logan.

“Bygones,” Mac said warmly, “after all, he saved your life.”

Logan was tired and fell asleep soon after lying down. Veronica didn’t sleep. She just sat next to him on the bed, or in the chair in the corner, watching him sleep, making sure his chest was rising up and down, tracing the shape of his face with her fingertips, memorizing what she’d come so close to losing. The clock ticked away the hours until she found herself lying next to him, her eyes drifting shut as she slipped into a dreamless sleep.

*****

They fell into some sort of routine, Veronica getting up in the morning, making a pot of coffee strong enough to grow hair on her chest then returning to bed to sit and sip at her mug while she watched him sleep. After a while she’d get up, shower, then nuzzle him awake before she left for work.

Logan had called his housekeeper and had her pick up his stuff from his house. She’d gone through her clothes and gave away enough that there was room in her dresser for some of his shirts and pants. He’d sit in bed, or on the couch, his laptop balanced across his legs, working on his latest project. Veronica would come home with a bag full of takeout and they’d eat dinner, her telling him about her latest case, him joking that daytime television was highly educational and he now knew what the definition of hoochie-mama was.

Then they would go to bed, Veronica laying her head flat on his chest, feeling him breathe, content. Who would have imagined the day that Veronica Mars would be allowed to be happy and content.

Most nights they would fall asleep like that and when Veronica woke in a sweat, screaming, her heart racing, James face looming in her dreams, Logan would wrap her in his arms, murmur in her ear that she was all right, he was all right, they were lying in their bed, and everything was okay. Veronica would feel her heart slow down and she would relax and she’d slowly fall back asleep, her head tucked into his chest, his around her back.

One night they were lying in bed, Veronica’s fingers tracing over where the stitches on his shoulder where James had shot him. It was bright pink and she could feel the ridge the stitches had left.

“We match.” Veronica muttered. Logan lifted his head to look at her.

“What?” he asked sleepily.

Veronica looked up at him and smiled. She touched his scar again then reached up to her shoulder and touched her own.

“We match.”

She felt his chest shake as he laughed a little. Then he was quiet. Veronica put her head back on his chest.

“We’re a set.” He said after a while.

They were a set. Their pain fit each other like pieces of a puzzle. That was why from the moment he’d grabbed her on the balcony of the Camelot it had made sense. That was why she’d spent so much time running away; he had the power to hurt her like no one else.

Veronica felt tears start to sting at the edges of her eyes.

“Hey V.” Logan said softly, hesitantly.

“Mmmmm.” She mumbled, afraid if she said too much the tears really would come.

“Let’s make it official.”

Veronica felt her heart skip a beat. She lifter her head and looked up at him again, searching his face.

“My lawyer stopped by today. Cherie signed the papers.”

“Logan.” Her voice was quiet, cautionary. She wasn’t sure she wanted to have this conversation.

“I’m not going anywhere, V. Not now, not ever.”

“Logan….”

“…and I love you…there’s no reason not to….”

“Please.”

“Marry me, Veronica Mars.”

She told him she needed to think about it. He said she could have as much time as she needed. Then they lay there, his hand stroking her hair, her face tucked into the crook of his neck. It had taken her forever to fall asleep.

The next morning they were sitting at the table in her tiny kitchen, not saying anything, Logan’s question hanging between them in the silence.

“I won’t take your name.” Veronica finally said into the stillness. “Veronica Echolls sounds terrible and I hate hyphenated names. And I have the business to worry about.”

Logan’s face broke into a smile. Whatever you want he laughed as he bit into his bagel. Veronica told him to wipe that fucking grin off his face, she hadn’t agreed to anything yet.

“I won’t move out of my apartment. You’d have to move in here.” she said after lunch when they were sitting on the couch, Logan working on his laptop, Veronica trying to finish her latest book, their legs tangled together.

“Veronica!” Logan said, looking up from the screen. “You want to stay in this shoebox? I’ve taken over the dining room table already and you barely have room in your dresser for my clothes….”

“For now.” She said, smiling. She liked having him close and she didn’t want to give up her apartment for his huge house in the hills.

Logan picked up a piece of paper, crumpled it and threw it at her.

They decided to go to the park before dinner, walking hand in hand down a wooded path, not too fast because Logan was still recovering from the surgery. Veronica glanced over at his profile and she was overwhelmed with emotion. It was at that moment that she knew it was right.

“Okay.” She said, squeezing his hand a little.

Logan stopped and looked at her, raising his eyebrows.

“Okay?” he asked. “Okay what? Okay, Italian sounds good for dinner? Okay, Logan, you’re the hottest guy on the face of the planet?”

“No.” Veronica murmured as Logan moved closer. She could smell the soap he’d used that morning.

“Okay what, Veronica?”

She leaned her head forehead until it rested on his chest. She didn’t know why she couldn’t find the words. She felt his hand on her back as he pulled her closer.

“Okay, what?” he whispered in her ear.

“Okay.” She started, and then paused and closed her eyes. “I’ll marry you.”

She felt his fingers stroke along her jaw line, then they tipped her chin up to him and he bent down, crushing his mouth to hers. Electricity shot through Veronica. Logan’s hands pushed under her t-shirt and up to her breast, caressing her nipple through the thin fabric of her bra, making Veronica gasp. Her brain was muddled, thick with wanting him and somewhere on the edges she heard voices, children, and she remembered they were in a public park.

“Fuck.” She whispered against Logan’s lips. “People.”

“Uh-huh.” He laughed, pulling away. He looked at her the muttered something unintelligible and captured her mouth again, taking her breathe away. Veronica felt herself being walked backwards off the path, away form the people, as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Here?” she whispered as their mouths broke contact.

“Hell, yes.” He growled, his hands going to the button on her jeans. They were in a stand of trees, sheltered from the main path. Veronica laughed.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” she gasped as his mouth left kisses down her neck. “The surgery…”

“Hell, yes.” He said again.

It was fast and dirty, Veronica kicking off her pants just before Logan lowered her to the ground. She spread her legs in her best fuck-me pose as he fumbled with the zipper on his jeans. Finally he was free, sliding between her thighs, into her, invading her mouth with his tongue and Veronica gasped. It hadn’t taken long for both of them to come; after all, there was something inherently hot about outdoor sex. Then they stood up, brushed off the grass and dirt, and walked back to the car in silence.

It was the first time they’d fucked since coming home from the hospital.

He bought her a ring the next day. It was a plain platinum band inlaid with turquoise.

*****

“The house sold.”

Veronica glanced up in the mirror again. He was still leaning against the doorframe.

“Good.” Veronica said, trying hard to keep her face straight. “Hey nosey, isn’t there something bad about seeing the bride on her wedding day?”

Logan laughed.

“It’s not like you’re the typical bride. And it’s not like typical rules apply to you.”

Veronica smiled and turned back to the mirror. No, she wasn’t the typical bride. She came complete with scars and emotional hang-ups, a package deal. There was a knock on the door and Veronica turned and gave Logan a look that made him know it was time for him to answer the door and leave her alone. She heard her dad’s voice in the living room as Logan greeted the Mars family, heard Keith tell Logan he’d have to call him dad from today on. Was anyone allowed to be this happy, Veronica wondered as she fastened a plain black choker around her neck.

“You’re wearing that?” Keith asked when Veronica walked into the living room.

“What?” she asked, exasperated, wondering what was wrong with black slacks and a button-up shirt?

“I think he’s missing you covered in chiffon and tulle.” Alicia said. Veronica raised an eyebrow. Everyone knew she wasn’t a tulle girl.

“Ronnie!”

“Sophie!”

Veronica knelt down just in time to scoop her now nine-year-old half sister in her arms. She was rewarded with a wet smack on the cheek.

“How’s my favorite sis?” Veronica asked, nuzzling Sophie’s nose.

“I brought flowers.” Sophie said.

Alicia stepped forward and handed a bouquet to Logan.

“She picked them from the yard this morning, said that brides are supposed to have flowers.” Alicia shrugged then smiled. “Who was I to stop her?”

Veronica handed Sophie to Logan who greeted him with similar enthusiasm, then Veronica hugged her stepmother, blinking back tears. She couldn’t have asked for better parents.

“Now.” Veronica said, “Before I get all marshmallow on you, let’s get going.”

Wallace and Mac were at the courthouse when they arrived. Wallace greeted Logan with a huge clap on the back, and then hugged Veronica.

“He hurts you, I kill him.” Wallace whispered in her ear. "I got connections, you know."

“What connections, Fennel?” Veronica teased, “Some guy named Vinnie who works in x-ray?”

Mac and Alice were next. Mac’s hair was freshly dyed for the special occasion and she gripped her girlfriend’s hand tightly.

“Hey boss-lady.” She said warmly. “It’s a good day.”

“It is.” Veronica agreed. “A good day.”

Finally it was time. Veronica stood in front of the judge, one hand firmly gripped by Logan’s, a homepicked bouquet in the other, surrounded by all the people she loved. It was so simple. A few questions, then they answered, and then they were inextricably strung together. And the final piece of the puzzle that had started over ten years ago slid into place.

*****

Veronica sat at her desk, staring out the window. Her hand unconsciously went up to touch the scar that ran across her cheek. She thought about it a lot less these days; her scars had started to heal.

Outside the rain dripped off the eves. It was another unusually wet spring in L.A. Veronica listened to the far-off sounds of cars splashing through puddles. Logan would be at home cooking dinner, probably something with brown rice. It was all about whole grains, he’d said the other night and she looked up from her the case notes she was transcribing, arched one eyebrow then proceeded to ignore him. It was the best way to insure he’d think of some way to interrupt her, and sure enough, her neck was being nibbled just a few minutes later and her steno pad was left forgotten on the table as he picked her up and took her into their bedroom.

They were still in her tiny apartment, although Logan’s propensity for taking over the dining room table had convinced her one additional room for his office might not be a bad idea. They were planning to start looking for a new place in the next couple weeks.

Veronica idly played with the ring on the ring finger of her left hand. She missed him even though she’d seen him just that morning as they read the paper and drank coffee in silence.

The Morro Bay police department had called a few months after they were married to give Veronica the official word that the investigation into James’ death was over and the ruling was self-defense. It was the final chapter for that part of Veronica’s life and she’d been more than happy to close the book and leave it behind.

“Night, boss-lady.” Mac called from the lobby. They’d finally broken down and bought a real plant, although Veronica had insisted on stashing the fake one behind the receptionist’s desk.

“Tell Alice we’ll be over for dinner next week.” Veronica called out.

“K.” Mac yelled back.

Veronica bent down and pulled out a fresh steno pad and put it on her desk. Might as well be prepared. She straightened her nameplate, which always made her think of her dad.

_Veronica Mars. P.I. to the Stars._

“You’re five-o-clock is here.” The receptionist buzzed on Veronica’s intercom. Veronica smiled. Business as usual.

“Send him in.”

::the end::


End file.
